The League of Gentleman
by Johanna Holmes
Summary: Sherlock had no case for quite some time when John visits him again. But then the young photographer Jabez Wilson shows up who tells them of the mysterious deaths of his ancestors which all seem to be connected to three old photos. Finally a case Sherlock seems to be interested in... (Inspired/After the original Holmes story "The Red-Headed League" by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle)
1. Chapter 1

John was closing the door behind him harder than he actually intended to.

"Sorry, Mrs Hudson!" he called into the hallway.

Strangely no older woman hurried out of her flat next to the staircase. No Mrs Hudson who greeted John for he actually would have liked to hear her calming voice and to eat one of her brilliant biscuits.

"Well… Women" John sighed before his look went up the stairs.

He walked up the seventeen stairs to his old home, back in 221B. He reached the first floor and opened the door. A familiar silence welcomed him and the picture of the skull on the wall greeted him with dark eyes. John let his look wander around.

"Sherlock?"

John walked a few steps into the living room, letting the scenery enchanting a smile of remembrance upon his face. But then there was suddenly something else John noticed. He crinkled his nose, he turned around and then he saw it. At first he observed the black smoke flying to the ceiling. It came through the slit of the closed kitchen door, behind its frosted glass front side he could see a strange flickering red and orange light.

_"__Fire"_ John thought immediately and right after that _"Oh god, Sherlock!"_

He rushed forward and threw the door hastily open, ready to get Sherlock out of there.

"John. I didn't hear you coming." Sherlock looked up relaxed.

The fact that he held something burning with pliers in his left hand and a Bunsen burner in his right with a pair of protective glasses on his face seemed to be no reason for him to worry.

"Sherlock?!" John gasped. "What- What the- ?!"

He did not know what to say first then after a few seconds:

"For god's sake! Put that fire out!"

"Just ten more seconds." Sherlock replied calm and concentrated.

John groaned but what else should he do? Sherlock turned around to the washbasin and put whatever the burning thing was inside. Immediately heavy smoke ascended. Since Sherlock did not seem to care John opened a window. While doing so he could not resist but looking at what Sherlock had done.

"Have you- ?"

He took a closer look.

"Is that one of my jumpers?!" he called out.

"Of course" Sherlock answered quite naturally while he put away his experiment equipment. "You forgot it when you moved out two years ago. I found it in your bedroom and it fit perfectly into my planned experiment."

John had wanted distraction but this was ridiculous.

"You could have given it back to me." he said keeping his anger down.

Sherlock, as always, ignored that statement.

"So, let me guess." John said while both of them went back into the living room. "You don't have a case?"

"I've been away for two years and even in twenty-four months the whole criminal network of Great Britain has not managed it to figure out some decent threats, thefts, black mailings or murders." Sherlock complained and threw himself on an armchair. "I should have stayed on the continent."

John scanned his best friend for a few seconds. The fact that Sherlock had played dead for two years without telling him had become by now a joke to the Consulting Detective but also John was over the time able to smile about it. But right now there were other things to talk about.

"Then it's about time to find you a new case, shall we?"

John grabbed Sherlock's laptop that lay on the little couch table. He clicked on _"The Science of Deduction"_ to take a look at some of the problems people had posted there on Sherlock's website.

"Do you think I would sit here if somebody had told me about a thrilling problem on my website?" Sherlock said scornfully and rolled himself up on the armchair in his blue dressing gown, drawing his legs up.

"No, don't try to be optimistic about it, that's too ordinary!" John replied sarcastically while scrolling. "I'm sure we can find something. The game is back on and we can chase again some dangerous serial killer."

"Why would you be so eager to solve a case now?" Sherlock said a bit confused and turned his head towards John.

John looked up to him and they looked at each other.

"Of course" Sherlock sighed and rolled with his eyes.

"What?" John asked.

"So after a row with your wife I am now the one you go to so you can distract yourself or talk about your problems."

John looked at Sherlock with big eyes.

"Now hang on! Everything is alright between me and-"

"The knuckles on your hand are still a bit white which means you have clenched your fists for quite a while and also very heavily so there must have been something making you very angry. By just one look at your shoes I can see that you hastily and nervous left your home because they look lazily tied. Your hair also looks a bit messy which means you have ran your hands through it quite aggravated and angrily while arguing. And I know that Mary is a good woman and I expect that she doesn't allow you normally to go out in such a state so there must have been some difficulties between you before you left to come here. Am I wrong?"

A second of silence.

"No! No, you're absolutely right!" John now said loudly. "Can we please move on now?"

Sherlock could not hide a little grin on his face while John looked back on the laptop, before he sighed again.

"Even the deductions didn't become at least a bit more-"

A flash of light.

John and Sherlock blinked and turned their heads towards the entrance door of their flat.


	2. Chapter 2

"Sorry, guys." a young male and shy voice said. "Old family habit."

The young man put the camera back into the pocket of his little bit too large jacket and walked carefully in the living room.

"I came in with the house keeper she-"

"Landlady" John interrupted. "She likes to insist on that."

Sherlock smiled, the man looked a bit nervous.

"Well, yeah, I came in with the landlady she told me to come up here. I am looking for Sherlock Holmes…?"

Sherlock rose from his armchair and positioned himself right in front of the man. He scanned him then walked around him while focusing him with his grey eyes.

"Your name?"

"Jabez Wilson" the man replied quite nervously and looked at Sherlock with a worried expression.

"A young photographer recently returned from China working for the press with probably an old collection of photographs which by now are valuable quite a few thousand pounds." Sherlock said analytically now facing Wilson again. "Okay, tell us your story it could get rather interesting."

He turned away and sat back into his armchair. Jabez Wilson stood there quite confused with his mouth open. Only after a few seconds he moved again and also slowly sat down into the armchair opposite to Sherlock.

"I have heard that you are a brilliant detective." Wilson then said carefully and laughing nervously. "But seriously: how can you possibly now all this stuff about me?"

"I'll tell you." Sherlock replied. "Although this time it's really easy that even John could have made this deduction."

John rolled his eyes.

"There are marks on your forearm from the edge of a desk which means you are typing a lot and in a hurry because of facing a deadline. You have a camera with you and by the fact that you even photographed John and me means you have it with you all the time so you are probably a photographer for a newspaper. And by saying _"Old family habit."_ you already give someone like me the perfect hint to draw the conclusion that you also belong to an old family of photographers who must have valuable old photographs if I look at the state of your clothes and handmade shoes."

Because Wilson just stared, still with his mouth open John was the one who asked:

"How do you know that he was recently in China?"

"The model of the camera." Sherlock pointed out naturally. "Brand new and has by now only been shown to the public at a fair in China."

He looked back at Jabez Wilson for the photographer seemed to be a bit lost in all those mountains of conclusions.

"What happened to you Mr Wilson?" was John the one who asked.

Wilson had to concentrate for a few seconds then he began to tell his story:

"As you have already correctly deduced Mr Holmes I belong to a family that has been in the business of photography since the beginning of the Victorian age. Back then it all started with the first cameras which were invented and my ancestor Charles Wilson was the first of my family who took photographs for a living."

"Yeah, that is what I already deduced five minutes ago." Sherlock interrupted in an unfriendly manner. "What is it that has brought you here?"

"My family has existed without a gap until this day." Wilson continued with a quiet voice. "But a few days ago my father died."

He paused.

"So?" Sherlock shrugged with his shoulders.

"Was there something strange about the death of your father?" John asked.

Wilson nodded and then said slowly:

"Well, it looks to everybody like a tragic car accident but I know better."

He swallowed.

"Because for many years now the heads of our family have died under strange circumstances or in accidents." Wilson said, looking to the ground. "And now that my father is dead I fear for my own life."

A few seconds of silence. Sherlock put his fingertips together and leant forward.

"Interesting" he said quietly and very calm.

"But this means" John stated in slight disbelief. "That there must be a group or also a family that has been observing and keeping an eye on your family for about 150 years!"

"An old war between families and one of them doesn't even know why." Sherlock said with a smile and the sound of fascination in his voice.

"Well, actually I have a hunch why."

Sherlock and John immediately looked at the young man.

"The oldest photographs our family still has are three from the year 1897." Wilson explained. "This means they are worth a lot of money. My father and also my granddad were always very careful when it came to those pictures and they also never gave them away for an exhibition. My father told me that they are very important to our family but he never told me what exactly is so special about them. He said he would tell me when I'm older."

Wilson's look got lost in old memories. Sherlock and John exchanged some glances and luckily John could see that this was going to be a case Sherlock was willing to take.

"Do you have the photographs with you?" John asked.

"At first I was afraid to take them with me." Wilson replied and put a hand into the briefcase he had brought with him. "But a detective needs something to work with, doesn't he? I made copies."

He gave a forced smile before handing the two men a transparent envelope.

Sherlock and John took a close look at the three 117 year old photographs. They were pictures taken in the City of London.

"That is the street in front of the Royal Exchange!" recognized John at the first picture. "And the other two show the Bank of England if I'm correct."

Jabez Wilson nodded with a gentle smile.

"Were those photos all taken on the same day?" Sherlock asked.

"The first two, yes. The last one was taken the day after."

Sherlock's look flew quickly over the pictures, scanning them with a thoughtful expression on his face. Then he smiled and chuckled before he looked up to Wilson again.

"Thank you Mr Wilson for finally giving me a case worth solving." he said happily. "John will call Scotland Yard so they can bring you safely home and we will take care of your problem."

And he jumped of his armchair, grabbing the photographs already going through all kinds of deductions and scenarios while John got out his phone with a sigh and carefully took Wilson to the door who had watched Sherlock with a very concerned expression.


	3. Chapter 3

When John came back up five minutes later Sherlock had already put the photographs up to the wall above the couch and scanned them intensively. Sometimes he stood far away sometimes he almost pushed his face against the pictures.

"This worked well then, didn't it?" John said as he entered the living room.

"Something in those pictures must have offended those people who now chase the Wilson family for almost 120 years." Sherlock said thoughtfully.

John stood beside him and now also took a closer look at the three old photographs:

The first one showed a look at the Royal Exchange from Queen Victoria Street. One could see only a half of the Exchange the rest of the picture showed the houses in the street which run somewhere into Cornhill and around the corner to the Bank of England. One could see the Bank on the next two pictures. Both of them showed the busy corner of the Princes Street and the Threadneedle Street. On the one which had been taken a day later one of the street lamps was just being repaired.

"They look like normal photographs taken on a busy day." John just said. "There is nothing strange about them."

"There is nothing more unusual than commonplace, John." Sherlock pointed out. "There were 770,443 crimes committed in London in the last year only. What do you think was the number back then in Victorian times when it was even easier for street robbers?"

"So…" John said slowly while analysing the pictures thoroughly. "This means one of Wilson's ancestors took those photographs not knowing that he might have just photographed a crime in process?"

"Exactly!" Sherlock confirmed John's theory. "This means that whoever back then committed this specific crime found out and tried to get those photos back so that by now planning crimes and keeping an eye on Jabez Wilson's family has also become a business to those people."

He faced the pictures again.

"There must be something strange about those pictures." he muttered. "What can look odd on a London street at half past two in the afternoon?"

"Half past two?" John asked.

Sherlock pointed at the first picture with the Royal Exchange on it. At one of the buildings one could see a clock and with a bit of effort John managed it to read the time: 2:35.

"Sherlock, look!" John then said and also pointed at the same photograph. "That man there, doesn't he look a bit suspicious while running over the street like this?"

John was right. On the bottom of the picture a man ran, looking slightly nervous from one side of the street to the other.

"Maybe he was doing something in the building on the left." John suggested. "One could look over the whole area around the Bank and the Exchange perfectly."

"Maybe…" Sherlock replied quietly, lost in his thoughts.

He scanned the second picture. It was a crowded corner many people were wandering around minding their own business and lots of carriages drove all over the place. Only a few people stood quietly at one of the street isles with the street lamps on them.

"Of course!" Sherlock suddenly called out.

"What is it?" John asked curiously.

"The people, John. We have to look at the people standing around."

John frowned then looked back at the photographs looking at all the people who were not sitting in a carriage or walking over the streets.

"Well, most of them are just standing near the street lamps." John simply said.

Then he noticed something. He saw the third picture that had been taken a day later. Two workmen were repairing one of the street lamps in front of the Bank.

"Do you think they did something with the mechanisms of those lamps?" John wondered.

"Half past two, look how busy all those people are and how many of them are wandering through the City at that time." Sherlock replied. "Do you think someone during rush-hour would notice it if a man quickly lends hand on such a street lamp?"

He now pointed again with his finger on the one man who ran over the street.

"Maybe he was the one who observed everything from the roof so they didn't forget one."

"But who of those people are the manipulators?" John now asked. "If it was such a busy time there must have been hundreds of people there."

"Perhaps we are looking for a similarity." Sherlock replied slowly.

Both of them now let their looks hurry over the three pictures eagerly looking for something that looked suspiciously ordinary, something one would not see at first sight.

"I have it!" John then called out after some seconds. "The man who runs over the street looks like a classic gentleman: a simple black suit and a top hat. Look at the people standing at the street lamps. At every single one of them are those gentlemen either facing the lamps or observing the people around them on the streets."

With a smile of satisfaction he turned around to Sherlock.

"So what were those men doing there, fixing something on those street lamps and observing the area?"

"It's obvious, isn't it?" Sherlock replied with a We-both-know-what's-really-going-on-here face.

John confronted the photographs, thinking hastily.

"Threadneedle Street..?" gave Sherlock a hint with a sigh.

Sherlock was right. Actually it was obvious.

"The Bank of England and the Royal Exchange at one place…" John slowly realized. "God… They broke into the most valuable buildings of London!"

"Back then electricity was still a new thing to the people. And imagine if all of the street lamps at one of the most important places went out or break in some kind of controlled miniature explosions. To get into the Bank in all this confusion and with a not that well organised police force back then should not have been a problem."

"So that afternoon they had planned to do it." John said.

"And Jabez' ancestor took a photograph while they prepared everything." Sherlock continued.

"That's why they killed the heads of the family." John said. "Because they had the photographs."

"And if they didn't want to cooperate and give them the photographs back they had to pay with their lives." Sherlock concluded.

"But why did they kill Jabez father?" John now wondered. "This crime is 120 years ago by now it must have been barred by limitation."

Before Sherlock had the chance to answer John's phone rang. He got it out and read the massage he had received.

"It's Lestrade he brought Jabez home." John said then he continued reading and stopped for a second before looking up to Sherlock. "The photographs have been stolen!"

"Of course they have!" Sherlock said. "And this is why they killed Jabez' father."

"What do you mean?" John asked.

Sherlock smiled with relish before answering:

"They are going to do it again." he explained. "They wanted the photos back so they can see how their ancestors have done it."

John stood there with his mouth open not sure if he could now really believe that some silly family criminals tried to break into the Bank of England or the Royal Exchange. Meanwhile Sherlock had put on his coat and his scarf.

"Write to Lestrade. Tell him we meet at the corner of Threadneedle Street and Princes Street. Those men will not resist of taking a look at the place!"

Sherlock walked through the door.

"And take the photos with you!" he called back while walking down the staircase.

John sighed angrily and hastily texted Lestrade where they should meet:

_Come to Princes/Threadneedle Street at once._

_Sherlock is on to something._

_JW_


	4. Chapter 4

As quickly as possible John took the photographs from the wall and put them back into the envelope before he finally grabbed his jacket and followed Sherlock outside. There his friend already sat in a cab waiting for him to leave. John got in and Sherlock right away said to the cabbie:

"Bank of England and hurry!"

Fortunately the cabbie was not one of the impolite kinds and so he followed Sherlock's order and drove them as quickly as possible through the City of London, possibly even faster than he was allowed to. But by this they managed it to get out at the Bank of England after not even ten minutes, searching for Lestrade. Through the crowd of the many people the Detective Inspector came towards them a few moments later, breathing heavily.

"What is it guys?" he asked before he even stopped. "Something about this Wilson I brought home?"

"Yes." Sherlock said while he advised John with a gesture to give him the photographs. "117 years ago some group of organised criminals broke into the Bank of England. Wilson's ancestor had taken photographs, that's why he and many others of his family were killed. "

He showed Lestrade the pictures and pointed out the street lamps and the men in suits and with hats.

"Many of those street lamps are still at the same spot as they were back then so keep an eye on them and those well-dressed men."

"But why? What are those people up to?" Lestrade interrupted for whom it was too much information.

"Those men want to break into the Bank or the Royal Exchange again." John explained.

"They are probably going to position tiny explosive charges at the street lamps. On the same ones were they did it in the old days." Sherlock clarified harshly. "If they are by now a high organised group of experts they may have already everything they need."

He took a look around himself while handing Lestrade and John a photo each.

"Keep an eye out on all gentlemen like people like those in these pictures. Then we'll get them."

Each of the men nodded and they spread out. Finding such men was easier said than done because it was about rush-our time and in a city like London there are millions of people and many of them probably also looked well-dressed. How were they supposed to find those men in suits and with hats?

John was asking himself that this instant then he took a look at the photograph he was holding in his hand. He had the one with the Royal Exchange and the man running over the street. John looked up and then he saw the building opposite to the Royal Exchange which was also on his photograph. Of course! As quickly as possible John ran towards that building, which was fortunately a public one so it was no problem to get in there and up to the roof.

Heavy wind blew into John's face but this was no problem for the former soldier who immediately spotted the silhouette of a man at the edge of the building. He walked over to him quite relaxed until he stood right behind him.

"Nice view isn't it?" he said.

The man turned around, saw John and straightaway rose, ready to attack him with his clenched fists. For John it was no difficulty to duck under the first punch of the man and knocking out the criminal with a perfect stroke on the chin.

John now stood on the edge of the building. He had the perfect view over the whole place, he could see every single street lamp and every single man walking around. He remembered the lamp he had seen on the photograph which had been repaired; and not too late! The moment he looked over to the lamp he saw a man standing beside it in a black suit and with a hat on. He had a briefcase in his hand which he carefully positioned next to the lamp with a calm expression on his face. John smiled self-assured then he got his phone out and texted Lestrade and Sherlock.

"How did you know that they would still look like back then?" John asked Sherlock while he watched Lestrade leading the man away and calling his other colleagues.

"The League of Gentleman" Sherlock replied.

"The what?" John asked confused.

"I remembered them when you used the term of _"gentleman" _while describing the people on the pictures." Sherlock explained. "I have read about them and must have stored it away in my mind palace. Since back then they have evolved into a big and well organised group of burglars. The expensive suits and hats have become their trademark."

John nodded and had to smile. He let his gaze wander through the crowd of people who not even had noticed that they had just saved their lives.

"Well, there you have it." he then said. "Again cleverly solved a case."

Sherlock shrugged with his shoulders.

"These little problems are just a rescue of being dragged in to boredom. I can already feel it overtaking my mind again. Let's go back to Baker Street, John. Hopefully there is already some other client waiting. Maybe we have the luck of a triple murder this time."


End file.
